


Brave Lads at the Front

by sycamoretree



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military, Romance, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill to this prompt on the Hobbit kink meme: "Love at first sight then one of them gets injured and has a low percent of surviving. Bam: angst." Dean is with the New Zealand forces in Egypt in 1915 to fight in World War I. He meets Aidan there, and suddenly the young Irishman seems to matter a lot to him. Romance and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend you listen to the following devastating music during the battle scene: A Building Panic by James Horner, Titanic; from 4.00 and on.

Dean had volunteered after reading the war bulletins and spotting a yellow poster featuring a pack of lions with a text that urged the men of New Zealand to help the British Army. He wanted to be a young lion, too.

So he found an office in Wellington where a recruiter happily enlisted him after he had been examined by a doctor. Of course a healthy 23-year-old passed the test easily. He was excited to see the world, he who hadn’t even been to Australia.

After being transported to Australia with other eager volunteers, he was quickly trained in the infantry brigade, then shipped to Europe.

He landed in Egypt in the autumn of 1914 and built a camp with his fellow comrades. He got some war experience when they pushed back Turks who aimed to take the Suez Canal early in 1915. That time had been exciting at first, then tedious. Dean’s company was not commissioned to attack with the other units, and so his rifle had been as cold as the February nights in the desert landscape.

Now though, activity and spring made the air thick with dust and the sun kept shining on their heads, rarely hidden behind clouds. Many soldiers took to wearing their uncomfortable and heavy helmets or hats in favour of saving their napes and scalps from getting sun-burned.

Rumors spread through the ever growing camp when division after division arrived from every English corner of the Earth. Something big was going to happen, and Dean caught on pretty fast by surreptitiously following two Australian officers and listening in on what they discussed as they briskly marched through the camp. France was mentioned a lot. And strange names on foreign towns that could be French or Turkish for all Dean knew.

Either way, they were moving out soon and an excitement brought new energy to his bored body. Finally an opportunity to see the war with his own eyes and get to see their famous artillery in action. The machine guns and heavy canons seemed very technically advanced as they stood in wooden boxes on platforms above the sand to save them from getting grains of sand in the cogs.

But the very bored and thus curious men in his unit had one day carved out holes in the boxes so they could witness the military wonders inside.

Another thing that made the whole waiting easier was the arrival of armies from Britain, Australia, and small groups of officers and their secretaries and telegraph operators with secret codes and classified information who came from France, India, and New Zealand.

And to the rest of Dean’s countrymen’s horror, a cavalry brigade called _New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade_ was brought in with horses and equipment that probably sent a pang of homesickness through many from the two southern states. The mounted brigade behaved like pompous heroes even before they had been in a fight, and Dean puffed his chest out at the thought of him actually having defended the strategic Suez Chanel from invading thieves already. In a way, at least.

Anyway, the arrivals certainly made the diversity of the camp’s habitants more interesting, Dean thought. There was always something waiting to happen, and the poor commanding officers were either clueless or helpless against the flaring and whimsical moods of their men. Fights between bitter, drunk men, cricket games, or some amateurish staging of a Shakespeare play by the more cultural lot were quite common when the men didn’t have to march back and forth or train at aiming their unloaded rifles at targets.

As Dean did his usual evening stroll in a slightly cooler temperature, some hour before curfew but after dinner and the end of the orders that day, he ventured into an area of freshly raised tents that hadn’t been there before. He knew this by noticing that not one piece of fabric was yet stained with brown dust, and the tent flaps were open and dangling a little in the warm breeze, unknowingly letting in bugs and sand.

Dean chuckled to himself and studied the newcomers with great interest, without staring, of course.

These were a pale lot, especially compared to Dean’s own tanned skin that complimented the hue of his beige shirt and his brown, unbuttoned jacket. It was strictly speaking against regulation to walk around like this; with his hat left in his tent and several buttons undone, but who would know who he was in this part where strangers had landed? Besides, the army schedule wouldn’t resume until at dawn, the important officers were enjoying a luxurious supper somewhere secluded, and Dean had to breathe, hadn’t he?

Dean spotted a lot of redheads and assumed they originated from England. They would have to learn quickly to spare their sensitive skin from the merciless sun. Speaking of, he had made a turn to head back by going through a street in a western direction but that made him face the evening sun. The piercing rays blinded him briefly and Dean brought up a hand to shield his eyes as white stars danced in his vision.

He was suddenly stopped by something solid and collided with it rather painfully. He gave a cry of surprise and staggered back, blinking frantically to see what had hit him. A young man like himself it seemed, and the man clutched his chin and stumbled back as well. Dean squinted until his eyes watered to try to see in the sunlight but it was just shades and outlines.

“You arse! Bollocks, that hurt!” the other man was growling and Dean rubbed his own aching hip. What kind of man walks around in that dangerous pace and doesn’t take precautions not to bump into someone who might have the sun shining in his eyes? He was just about to say that, though add a few curses, when a small chuckle sounded and made him halt movement and tongue.

“Look, I can’t quarrel with you properly if you’re going to squint at me like that. Come here, mate.”

The stranger reached out an arm and tugged Dean sideways until he had the sun warming his right side and his eyes adjusted to the normal light. He glared at the offender and shrugged himself free from his grip on his jacket.

The young man was a youth, probably barely over twenty years old judging by his playful instead of resentful expression. He wore no helmet and raven, wild curls waved in the air. The man was somewhat tall, a little more than Dean, he was reluctant to admit, and looked healthy unlike some of his fellow companions who seemed to have suffered from sea sickness on the journey to Egypt.

The man flashed him a wide grin and showed off white, whole teeth. “I’m sorry for the trouble I accidently caused you, sir.”

“You could have watched where you were going,” Dean replied tersely and crossed his arms. The man remained unfazed by the incident.

“Sorry, sir; I don’t intend to make a habit of running into people if you disapprove. But considering it’s my first day here, and you’re obviously a veteran around here, don’t you think it would be wiser to not wander into the area of the newly arrived and disturb them while they try to settle in?”

The nerve! Just as Dean was on the verge of shouting something foul at the unashamed man, he realized that the man was Irish, or spoke with a distinct Irish accent. His personal hobby ended his fury.

“You’re from Ireland? And your mates?”

The man's eyes softened and he looked over Dean quickly, and apprently deeming him friendly for a conversation.

“I'm Irish, yes. But no, most of my companions aren't. We belong to the British Army.”

Dean had been right when he guessed the nationality on those ginger men earlier. He also became immensely pleased at the chance at gaining the upper hand over this curious person by, which was low in the eyes of commoners, tapping a finger against his emblems on his jacket arm.

Aidan didn’t avert his eyes and duck his head down in regret, nor did he stare in horror at Dean when he was pulling rank. No, this man dared to _wink_ at him cheekily.

“I mean _Sergeant_ , then. But I feel as if I’d like names to go with our grades if we’re going to be formal.”

He held out a hand. “I’m Aidan. Corporal Turner if we have to be formal. But call me Aidan if you want.”

The man held out his dark-haired arm and Dean grabbed the offered hand, appreciating the firm, although sweaty handshake. The ache in his hip was diminishing and the possibility of a budding acquaintance made him smile.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Sergeant Dean O’Gorman. From New Zeeland, obviously.”

Aidan’s eyes lit up. “But your name is Irish! Good to know there’re fine men fighting in other armies as well. Trust the Irish to win this war, eh?”

Aidan playfully bumped his shoulder into Dean’s arm and Dean found himself starting to smile broadly, like he hadn’t in a while. It felt like his cheeks were crackling when the bronzed skin was pulled taut around his mouth. His slight homesickness immediately receded in Aidan’s company.

“I guess so. But as long as my brigade outdoes the Australian one, I don’t care much about the competition within the Commonwealth of Nations." Dean proceeded to drag a hand through his golden hair in a gesture of confidence.

Aidan retorted with a soft tone, “Why, then we have the same goal, mate. See, I too fancy topping Australians.”

Dean barely had time to ponder the strange sentence that wasn’t much more than an alteration to his earlier statement. But another thing caught his interest: the Irish accent that rolled pleasantly on Aidan’s tongue. Though, Dean had trouble determining the man’s origin where it mattered to most people. Did Aidan speak refined Irish or not? He decided to investigate discreetly whether Aidan belonged to an upper class, or if he was a regular working man like himself.

“What do you do for a living? I mean, before the war…”

Aidan didn’t appear offended by the personal question so soon, nor did it seem like he had perceived Dean’s true intention with the question. The dark-haired man gestured at some abandoned boxes beside the road by a tent and they sat down on them.

“I work in the stables of my landlord. It’s me who’s taking care of all the horses and engines.”

Dean was immediately interested, and relieved that there wasn’t a social boundary between them.

“So you work with vehicles? Do you drive automobiles?”

Aidan chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, I’ve barely even seen one. I meant some machines that we use to work the fields. I polish them in the winter and fix them if they need mending.”

With badly hidden pride, Dean admitted, “I drive an automobile.”

Aidan’s eyes widened and he gaped at Dean who might have puffed out his chest  proudly.

“Really?! How? Why?”

Dean laughed at the silly expression on Aidan’s face and flippantly shrugged. “I’m a milkman back in Wellington. I drive the best automobile, after the Commissioner and the bankers, of course. Can’t have a vehicle that breaks down in the middle of the road and makes the milk sour.”

Aidan still looked stunned.

“But Dean, that’s a terrific merit! You could have applied for the artillery units to drive and steer canons and tanks, or even become a driver to one of the colonels or generals!”

Dean sheepishly rubbed his neck since a lieutenant at the recruiting office had said the same.

“Well, I really wanted to fire a gun. Also, I find the company amongst the regular men more stimulating.”

Aidan still shook his head in disbelief, though he seemed to understand Dean’s motifs. ”Still, to turn down a larger salary just to be one of us… I don’t know if you’re a mad man or just noble.”

“Neither do I,” Dean joked and then elaborated the tale of his life by telling Aidan that he every summer travelled from small farm to farm to work as a shearer. The many meetings with different people, the escape from the busy city, and the closeness to sheep were always pleasant in his opinion. And Dean found himself smiling throughout the conversation.

***

A few weeks later, Dean and Aidan were inseparable comrades, except when they had to be with their own units.

For some unknown reason, Dean connected easier with Aidan than he had with any of the men he shared a brigade with. Aidan was carefree, new at warfare but eager to learn. He also told Dean a great deal about his home village, Irish folk stories, and how he had deemed the whole tedious enlisting procedure. Dean laughed many times each day and silently thanked Aidan for being there to make the whole waiting less dragging.

But one day when the descending sun was barely visible on the violet horizon, Dean knew he had to head back unless he wanted to receive reprimands and maybe punishment for being late to his tent. 

Aidan followed him through narrow shortcuts in the tent landscape and they were both relieved to find that few men lingered there to block their way. Suddenly, a tug on Dean’s collar made him bounce back midstep and he made a surprised sound and turned around to see Aidan with an innocent expression on his bastard face even as he still lowered the hand that had gripped Dean. The other hand pulled something white from his trouser pocket.

“What did you do that for?” Dean asked with a frown and straightened his collar.

Aidan stepped nearer and reached for Dean’s jacket while brandishing a white cloth in the other.

“Come here, you dirty rascal,” he chuckled and pulled Dean closer. He started to polish Dean’s matted buttons and the proximity was startling in the quiet alley.

“Can’t have you getting reprimanded by the officer at the inspection,” Aidan explained with a tsk and worked diligently to free the golden surface from dust. Dean cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to…” Dean began but Aidan cut him off with an insistent tone.

“But I want to,” and he lifted his eyes and his toffee eyes pierced into Dean until a blush appeared on Aidan's cheeks beneath the dark stubble. For some reason unknown to him, Dean found himself asking in a silent voice, “How old are you, Aidan?”

Aidan lost the concentrating look but kept polishing Dean’s buttons.

“I’m nineteen.”

Dean nodded his understanding when Aidan added under his breath, “in a few months.”

Dean jerked his head in surprise but didn’t get far thanks to the grip Aidan had on his collar.

“I… I thought you were older,” he mumbled nonsensically and something akin to hurt flashed over Aidan’s face.

”Does my age matter?” he whispered and Dean exhaled and smiled ruefully.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re a man of course. I only assumed you were a few years older.”

Aidan gave him a grimace that contorted his handsome features.

“It may be because of my hair. Many say that my fast-growing stubble, my large eyebrows and the thick curls make me look beyond my years,” Aidan offered before his searching eyes swept over Dean’s own face.

“What of you? How old are you?”

“I’m two years shy of twenty-five.”

That statement made Aidan’s features truly soften and he let out a gleeful laugh. “You’re so silly. That makes it sound as if 25 determines your importance and authority.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. “Sergeant O’Gorman, remember, _Corporal_ Turner.”

“Bastard,” Aidan hissed in mock frustration and he tugged especially hard on Dean’s jacket as he straightened the fabric, which made Dean rock here and there like a ragdoll. Aidan lifted his head high and managed to tower a bit over Dean.

“And I’m no mere boy. I’m a man.”

His voice had turned husky and Dean swallowed and his expression turned serious when Aidan looked down at him so intensely as if he was the only person in the world.

“An Irishman,” Dean noted slowly as some kind of clever joke, not meaning to risk Aidan misinterpreting him again and Aidan countered by retorting, “O’Gorman”.

Aidan began swaying on the spot from his stiff posture and he scrambled for purchase by hooking his right hand in the open collar before him. Dean raised his arms and supported Aidan at the elbows, a smirk spreading on his face. Aidan avoided his teasing gaze and instead wriggled his fingers inside the jacket and found the identification tag that Dean wore around his neck.

Aidan’s warm fingertips left his skin scorching but Dean stood perfectly still during Aidan’s investigation. After a moment of turning the two tags around, Aidan met his eyes.

“Dean, the troops from New Zealand have the same tags as we do in the British Army. One red and one green. And you’re an _O’Gorman_.”

Brown eyes were fixed on Dean and he saw nothing but Aidan.

“We are the same,” Aidan whispered. Something yearning and recognizing showed on Aidan’s young, expressive face. Then a major’s automobile arrived at their part of the camp and honked loudly.

The odd tension broke between the two men and Aidan stepped back, averting his eyes and gesturing generally in Dean’s direction. “You won’t fail the next inspection, at least.”

Then he spun and all but stormed off before Dean had time to react and… Do what? Call after him so others noticed and would start gossiping about a conflict? Reach out and grab him which seemed intimate in the same way that the polishing of his buttons had been now in hindsight? Or should he walk after him and find somewhere private to discuss Aidan’s strange behaviour?

In the end, Dean remained rooted on the spot as soldiers and vehicles moved around him on the busier streets. He needed to gather himself, but one thought kept nagging him at the back of his mind. That Aidan was discreetly giving him indications on where his true preferences lay. Preferences in bed.

Dean sheltered his eyes from the waning sun with an arm but no matter how hard he watched, he could not detect the Irishman in the dust and crowd of tents ahead.

He knew it was a dangerous thing to confront a man with a guess like that, for he himself could be exposed. And maybe Aidan was merely an odd fellow who wanted to be his friend. However, Dean had never met another male friend who had gotten that close only so he could clean Dean’s buttons.

Aidan seemed to be a natural at evoking these feelings within him and that night in his narrow bed, Dean’s mind was suddenly occupied on wondering whether Aidan could be one to love men. One who had experience with touching other men, because the youth seemed so aware of his influence on others by his physical form; knew how to move, how to angle his head alluringly and use those brown eyes to his advantage. And he appeared to often seek out Dean’s proximity as if asking and hoping to confront him into reaction.

Eventually, Dean rolled over one last time and came to a conclusion before sleep claimed him: Aidan was a special man. And Dean didn’t mind that.

***

Dean didn’t get an opportunity to broach the subject with Aidan even as the man began to occupy his thoughts a lot. The next day proved to be the last April day in Egypt before being transported to Gallipoli in Turkey of all places, and the entire camp was in chaos as things was packed and companies gathered so they would be ready to be moved the next morning when it was time to go.

The New Zealand brigades were organizing to be merged with the Australian forces before the departure. Dean didn’t see Aidan at all that day.

When dawn came the next day, Dean's company stood on a place where tents had been before and kept their eyes on the mounted officer who brandished a whistle and waited for the right time to move out.  A sudden movement in the corner of his eye made Dean look sideways and in the onlooking crowd of other men, amongst the helmets, he spotted a mop of black curls.

Dean's heart beat faster and he almost stepped out of line to go to Aidan. Then a panting Irishman was at his side as if they hadn’t been on their own for one day. The presence of Aidan calmed Dean's nervousness, but all the same made him fear for the Irishman's fate, so he glanced at the officer but saw that he hadn't noticed the trespasser.

Suddenly, Aidan's hand flew to Dean's neck and the warm palm covered his jaw and fingers brushed against his stubbled cheek. Astonished by the unexpected touch, Dean simply stared at Aidan who wore a pained but determined expression on his face as he suddenly pressed something in Dean’s hand and rushed out, “To keep you safe, Dean.”

Then they were separated by moving men and shouting officers equipped with whistles and Dean lost sight of Aidan in the crowd even though he scanned the heads around him with frantic intent. The farewell had been too short. He couldn't leave his friend like this, without knowing a lot of things. Dean felt a horrible pressure on his chest and a lump in his throat.

Would he ever see Aidan again? Were they even being sent to the same front? Would Aidan have to go to the Western front in France?

The unanswered questions gnawed at Dean’s soul.

Once everything calmed down significantly, as the whole New Zealand brigade formed perfect marching lines, Dean glanced down at his hand and saw a small folded paper that opened and revealed a delicate, pressed and dried clover.

Aidan’s Irish shamrock, a lucky charm, given haphazardly to an almost stranger. But Dean knew in his heart that he would treasure the symbol as if it was his own. He only regretted the thought of him not giving anything in return to Aidan, should superstition work, thus leaving him unprotected in the oncoming campaign.

As his row began to march forward, towards the harbour to board the ships, Dean slipped the paper with the clover into his chest pocket. Just in case, he began to pray for Aidan’s wellfare, hoping that the Christian God would at least aid his comrade if not a national symbol would. And so, Dean marched towards the war once more, with hope and worry in his heart.

***

It was an inferno.

Dean had dived under a bush on the beach and inhaled air swiftly while men shouted and officers ran like panicked rabbits on the sand.

Some had managed to reach the stony cliffs further from the sea but they couldn’t venture higher without risking their lives, for the Turkish machine guns kept spitting bullets over the New Zealand men.

Dean ventured a look up at the hill but saw nothing of the enemy. He swore and ducked down again, clutching his rifle with the useless bayonet. No enemy was near and contrary to his officer’s reassuring promise on the ship, the Turks were not at all almost out on ammunition. They were even equipped with heavy artillery.

A private stumbled to Dean’s hiding place and gasped as he sat down beside him, “We’re at the wrong beach! I heard the Captain say so himself. The officers have no idea where we are, or how the Turks are holding up up there.”

A Major spotted the huddling couple and waved his arm, face contorted in rage. “Soldiers! Stand up and fight!”

The other man momentarily pressed closer against Dean’s side who hesitated long enough for the Major to become completely mad. He sprinted over to them and threw himself on his knees in the sand.

He unceremoniously grabbed Dean’s arm and tugged at him ruthlessly so his torso rocked forward. The man had to scream to make himself heard over the noise of dying men and rattling machine guns.

“Get your arses up from here right now! Take the hill, or so help me God, I shall make you regret it!”

He proceeded to fling Dean away from the spot and straight into the midst of battle. The Major needn’t have to treat him so roughly. Dean recognized an order when he heard one. He had to obey and was ready to carry it out for his country. If only he could persuade his heart that it was right and natural to leave his safe place.

Not looking behind to see what became of the other soldier, he pushed the helmet down over his forehead, held his weapon firmly even though his hands trembled, and felt his pulse speed up. He began running with heavy feet in the thick sand, avoiding the bodies of fallen men in his way.

No-one during training in Australia had taught him that when countless of bullets are fired at a soldier, it’s essential that he makes less of a target of himself by doing a zigzag run. He hadn’t even fired a gun in his life.

Dean ran in a straight line towards the intimidating hill, in order to reach it fast and get it over with. He heard that grenade as it flew through the air and hit the sand with a dull thud beside him before the explosion came.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Foggy Dew - Patsy Watchorn**  
_

_Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war_  
 _'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud El Bar_  
 _And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through_  
 _While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew_  
  
 _'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free_  
 _But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea_

**Chapter 2 _  
_**

Suddenly someone probed inside Dean's body. First it was wriggling worms eating away paths in his agonized flesh. Then the worms turn into claws. Everything burned and Dean screamed at the unbearable torture.

***

Dean came to and it took a long time between the first stirring in his body to him at last opening his eyes to let in the light. His gaze met darkness.

But the darkness was good.

“Hello, you.”

Dean’s eyes travelled from Aidan’s black, ruffled hair down to his face. Although the sight was soothing his mind, he felt the dull throbbing in his whole body; a gift from the war.

Dean kept staring silently, collecting himself, until Aidan’s expectant look turned subdued. With a quiet voice, and yet with worry creeping into the low hum, Aidan spoke to him.

“You are wounded, Dean. You’re at a base hospital at the coast on the Gallipoli peninsula. You’ve been here for three days and haven’t woken up without unconscious fits. I’ve been here since yesterday’s morning, and I came as soon as I could. The doctor told me you got hit by a grenade. Apparently you had the luck of the Irish since you weren’t closer when it went off.”

Dean grimaced. He didn’t feel very lucky. Aidan’s voice droned on, drifting in and out in Dean’s ears.

“You have three broken ribs and a few infected cuts on your right side. That’s what burning inside your chest, so try not to laugh or cough. Then you’ve got one grave contusion on your right thigh and damaged ligaments in your knee, whatever the hell ligaments are, and a broken left arm with a bone that had to be aligned. The doctor said you must have flown up in the air from the explosion and landed badly. But you should recover without lasting damage.”

Dean’s tongue worked slowly in his mouth, as if he was re-learning the shape of the cavern. Aidan managed a weak smile but his insistent eyes searched Dean’s face. “I found you even when you and the rest of the New Zealand troops got yourselves lost. No officer told us anything. I intercepted one of the runners and bribed him to give me any news about your front, and hopefully your unit. I heard about the landing mistake. In Anzac Cove.”

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head away. Dread filled his stomach as the memory of the beach returned to him; sharp and brutal.

“Dean?”

A hand slid over his right wrist but Dean couldn’t bear to meet Aidan’s worried eyes. He stared at the rows of beds beside him, each occupied by a wounded man.

“Stop talking about that place. Anzac Cove.”

Then he sighed. “I heard the grenade. I heard it, Aidan.”

After his tired words had sounded, he could hear Aidan stiffen beside him. Dean made to talk again but found his throat parched, and began to struggle to cough. Immediately sure hands was lifting him from the bed and holding his back as gravity helped Dean get air into his lungs. It hurt his chest to breathe deeply. Aidan wove one arm around his pitiful torso and reached for his own flask that was strapped to his backpack.

“Have a drink. I just got fresh water.”

Dean swallowed dryly with a grimace and blinked tears of strain from his eyes. “What about you? You need the good water,” he emitted hoarsely and the hand on his back stroked him soothingly. Aidan held the unplugged flask to Dean’s dry lips.

“Dean.” Stern.

“Please.” Vulnerable.

Dean leaned against the proffered drink and let cool water run inside his mouth. When he had had his fill, Aidan plugged the flask and strapped it to his bag. Then he reached over and stroked a coarse thumb over the corner of Dean’s mouth and chin where stray water drops clung on his stubble. Dean wasn’t ashamed to admit that the tender touch felt heavenly and he closed his eyes in bliss. He could feel himself slip away on the clean sheets.

Aidan hummed quietly. “Sleep, Dean. Just rest.”

Dean had no choice; he dozed off.

***

The next day, Dean woke up to a nurse doing her rounds and hurridly changing his dressings. The sight of his damaged body both disgusted and intrigued Dean. He was amazed that skin could turn into so many colours. Brown around his broken ribs, red on his swollen knee that ached whenever he moved it, green and yellow around the infected wounds on his waist, and a nauseating spot of black and blue over the thigh. The flesh looked dead and it made Dean feel uneasy even though the nurse seemed indifferent as she wrapped bandages around the area.

Dean chose to look away and inspected the environment in the meantime as the woman finished poking at his naked skin.

The hospital had been installed inside an old building. It was said to be an abandoned sardine factory, and that seemed likely thanks to the high ceiling and large hall. Dean imagined he could sense a faint smell of fish amongst the smell of blood and disinfection. Thankfully though, the thick walls kept the heat of a Turkish spring outside the hospital.

The next time Aidan visited, it was very late. Dean woke up to a fainst rustling noise and opened his eyes to see Aidan utterly carefully seating himself on a chair he had found God knows where and carried to Dean's bedside. Only a few lanterns where lit by the entrance to the hospital and they hardly shone a bright light on Aidan. Still, Dean could make out his features and hummed in query at the late and surely against regulations visit in what looked like the dead of the night.The whole hospital was quiet.

But Dean was in a better mood this time and curiously studied his friend. The young Irishman waggled his eyebrows playfully after he had lowered the rifle and the rucksack to the floor soundlessly.

“You look positively smashing, darling. New, clean dressings and all.”

Dean knew he didn’t, especially not in the middle of the night. He had bruises and marks on his face, dark circles beneath his eyes: brought on by prolonged pain and sleepless nights.

Aidan on the other hand looked dashing as he leaned forward on the chair; bright eyes, curvy lips, and wisps of dark hair on his chest in the thin strip that was revealed thanks to his undone top buttons. He looked like a true hero from a romantic story.

To Dean, Aidan’s feelings suddenly became apparent on his striking features that regarded Dean warmly. It didn't matter now when he had almost died on a foreign beach to keep pretending they were only comrades. Dean drew a fairly deep breath to not agitate his ribs, and whispered, “I feel strongly for you, Aidan.”

A glint appeared in Aidan's eyes and he tilted his face. “And I you, Dean O’Gorman. Very strongly.”

Aidan’s words were hushed, but they filled Dean’s aching chest with joy nevertheless. They shared a knowing smile and fell silent for a while to let the thought sink in. Two men who enjoyed each other’s company in an intense way that was forbidden but seemed so natural.

Dean closed his eyes to rest a little, helpless before the needs of his injured body. After a while, a silent word was heard. “Dean?”

“What is it?” Dean replied and opened his eyes. Aidan was nibbling on his lip and his jaw was tight. Immediately, Dean became more alert. Aidan took a deep breath before he spoke.

“Can I lie with you for a while? I do understand if your bed is too narrow, and it’s just that I’m sick on sleeping in the slob with the rats like an abused horse, and I feel bloody lonesome out there…”

Aidan’s voice turned shaky at the end and Dean sighed because he had been ready to say yes when Aidan first asked.

“Come here.”

He patted the blanket and Aidan slipped beneath it, tangling his dressed legs with Dean’s naked, healthy one, and shuffled close so Dean could rest his head on his shoulder. Dean had been a fool for not noticing Aidan’s weary state and how heavy the weight of worry rested upon his shoulders. Dean should have asked Aidan earlier how he was, considering he had to see Dean like this.

“How long can you stay?” Dean mumbled and Aidan gave him a lopsided smile.

“The doctor does his rounds at two o’clock. We have until then. It's eleven now.”

Three hours, and most of the men lay still, others muttered and tossed, plagued by nightmares, but asleep nevertheless.

A hand searched under the blanket and found Dean’s fingers. He grasped Aidan’s hand and Aidan shifted closer to his side while being careful to not aggravate his injuries. Dean took in the sight of the Irishman. Aidan, for all his glorious height, looked… small.

Another whisper sounded. “Dean?”

“Yes?”

“How does it feel when you get shot?” Aidan bit his lip again, clearly afraid that Dean would lash out at the bold question. On the contrary, Dean was calm, but hesitant.

“I shouldn’t tell. The morale, you know… And I don’t want you to be more afraid than you already are.”

“I’m a soldier. I have been in some battles before. Sort of. I can handle the nasty truth. I just want to know so… so I can be prepared if… if it happens.”

Dean shook his head. “Aidan, you won’t get shot, do you hear me?”

Aidan’s upset voice turned shrill. “Why should I be spared? Everyone else isn’t! Everyone pays with their blood and lives except I! I don’t recognize anyone in my company anymore because they are all reinforcements after the pathetic landing on Gallipoli! I’m just waiting for another command that orders me to advance and get shot and perhaps die. I might have come this far but no-one stays untouched forever. I begin to make mistakes in my routines. I’m tired. I notice this in hindsight. I don’t clean my rifle as often as I should. I began to care about you a lot, and then you got shot and bombed!”

“Are you saying that I was a mistake?” Dean wondered instantly and dared to lift his splinted arm to run his bare fingertips over Aidan's chin and guide his distressed face towards him.

Aidan's gaze wavered and his lips quivered. “No, Dean. I’m saying that I’m exhausted by the war.”

Dean truly looked at Aidan’s face. He was a pained and terrified boy at that moment; a long way from home, doubting his luck, lost. Even when unharmed, Aidan needed help that no doctor or officer could or would offer. So Dean acknowledged the wave of protectiveness that bubbled up inside him and pulled his healthy hand free from Aidan’s, which made Aidan jerk in panic and hurt, before Dean swiftly placed his whole arm around Aidan and snuggled closer to the other warm body.

Aidan began to whimper silently and wept against Dean’s neck as Dean hushed him, caressed his hair, and tried to comfort him the best he could without upsetting him more.

At length, the exhausted Irishman shuddered next to Dean as dry sobs were the only thing left from his sorrow. Dean stroked tears from Aidan’s cheeks, then bent his head and pressed his lips to Aidan’s quivering neck. It felt good to give his kisses to Aidan.

He kissed the scratchy skin gently as he travelled up over the jaw. Aidan sniffled one last time before tilting his head searchingly and bringing his mouth close to Dean’s lips. Dean closed his eyes and pushed his lips against Aidan's. The first kiss was short and gentle. When their mouths parted, Aidan's hand came up to hold onto the collar of Dean's robe and Dean let his hand grip Aidan's arm tighter so he could feel the touch through his jacket and shirt.

Aidan's lips connected with his again, almost as if drawn to them, and this time he lingered at Dean's welcoming mouth. Dean sucked on a proffered lower lip and received a lovely gasp. Aidan's breath was tinted with some kind of stew and all of a sudden, Dean found himself hungry.

Gambling it all for double or nothing, Dean bravely slipped a tongue inside the wet mouth and opened Aidan up like the alluring Irishman had done with his soul from the moment they met in Egypt. The two men tensed when tongues touched and caused a shivering sensation. Aidan breathed hard through his nose and shifted under the blanket, his legs and hips moving but he was aware of the need to keep the rustling to a minimum.

A knee was insinuated between Dean's legs and brushed against his sparsely dressed crotch. There was only a nightshirt and a pair of underwear covering him really, and Aidan’s proximity was intoxicating. The pleasant warmth rolled over Dean and he could tell he was beginning to stir from the enticing motion of that clever kneecap.

Dean swept a hand under Aidan’s jacket and pressed fingertips into the abdomen, massaging the soft skin while devouring Aidan’s mouth.

Small moans and gasps left them despite their intention to stay silent. When Dean’s curious hand drifted down skim over the pelvis at the edge of Aidan’s trousers to return the favor of Aidan making him hard and filled with lust, Aidan caught his wrist.

Dean opened his eyes and nearly choked at the flushed face and the dark eyes before him. The young men breathed harshly into each other’s mouth and Dean wetted his lips, noticing how Aidan’s glassy eyes drifted to them.

“Dean… we shouldn’t.”

Dean couldn't help but stretch out his fingers even when his hand was trapped in Aidan's grip, and skim them along the trail of hair. Aidan stiffened and he swallowed a moan.

Dean replied with a husky voice, “Who’s here to stop us? I want you, Aidan. Want to give you pleasure. Let me take care of you.”

Aidan had seemed so brazen and bold earlier, now that Dean thought back on his friendship with the man. Aidan had always been rather flirtatious towards him and yet now he hesitated.

“Don’t you want this, Aidan? I won’t be angry if you don’t.”

Aidan shook his head and made a pained grimace. “Dean, shouldn’t I feel like this isn’t right? I mean, not _us_ , but the fact that you’re hardly alright. Isn’t it wrong to want someone who’s injured…”

Dean sighed and blew hot air on Aidan’s neck, amused when he saw the goose bumps that rose.

“Not if said patient is willing still. I’m perfectly sound and want to give you something.”

“I’ve never done anything like this with a person I cared about as much as I care about you,” Aidan confessed, sounding and looking the part of a virginal adolescent, which only made Dean want him more.

“Beautiful mouth,” he blurted, but never paused as he in the next moment reached to stroke a finger over Aidan’s hilly eyebrow. Two red roses bloomed on Aidan's cheeks but his eyes spoke of a primal need. While keepin eye contact with the other man, Dean quickly wetted his palm with his tongue before bringing it below the blanket and inside Aidan’s trousers and shorts. The response was lovely.

Aidan gave a stuttered gasp when Dean blatantly wrapped his hand around his length. Aidan's hips thrust with small, aborted motions into Dean’s teasingly loose grip that more aggravated the silken skin than sated the lust in the hard shaft.

Aidan lasted a few more seconds of teasing before groaning and sobbing against Dean’s damp neck, voice wrecked with arousal. “Dean, please!”

A raven tendril fell across Aidan’s forehead and he braced himself on Dean’s good shoulder, making Dean feel connected too to the intimacy as he felt each shudder that went through the half-bared man. As he peppered fleeting kisses on Aidan's mouth and nose, Dean traced the weeping head gently with his thumb and he experimentally investigated Aidan’s lack of foreskin on the delicate top. Aidan muffled a groan by chewing on his bottom lip and rocked into Dean’s stroking digits.

“You're circumcised,” Dean breathed and gave Aidan a leisurely stroke.

Aidan muttered hoarsely, “I was an infant. It’s done for health.”

“I’m not,” Dean confessed and kissed Aidan’s jaw before enjoying the hazy, but intrigued expression on Aidan. The young man was so aroused.

“I want to explore you one day if you explore me,” Aidan revealed and then he eagerly rucked up his shirt and pushed the trousers down, to show the trail of hair leading to a shaved crotch and a pink, hardening cock.

Dean panted into Aidan’s ear, while slowly riding Aidan’s slender thigh which now rocked into his groin, “Tell me what you need. What can I do to make you…?”

“Touch my bollocks. Oh, please, Dean, your hand… It feels so good.”

Dutifully, Dean slid his hand down and as the palm pressed into the sensitive underside of the cock; his fingertips reached the warm, soft sac below. A hoarse moan escaped Aidan and Dean deftly traced the tender part.

“Like this?”

Aidan fisted Dean’s nightshirt and nodded with a pretty, contorted face.

“Yeah. So damn good. More.”

At the demand, Dean stroked faster, regretting how he couldn’t use his bandaged hand to take care of Aidan’s cock at the same time. Aidan’s whole body became heated and Dean felt himself develop a sweat at the exertion, the arousal, and the anticipation to see Aidan reach his pleasure.

The youth stiffened then, before undulating his hip violently and releasing a deep moan that turned into a low cry at the end. Dean quickly returned his palm to the red length to work Aidan through his climax. The younger man's eyes rolled back in his head and Dean drank in the sight of pure ecstasy. With his own erection pulsing and demanding release, Dean still managed to stroke Aidan's heated flesh and watched as semen burst from him and dribbled wetly onto his hand. Aidan thrust  and threw his arm over his mouth to muffle his cries and loud pants, desperate eyes fixed on Dean.

When Dean's moving fist tightened around the swollen shaft, he felt lust and tension coil fast in his own lower regions before he was spurting his seed. As he grunted; hot, wet streaks landed in his underwear. The pleasure had thankfully dulled some of the ache in his body for the moment and Dean enjoyed the absence of pain. Not before long, Aidan collapsed with little grace on Dean’s side, but the weight from the sated lover was welcome.

Their hearts raced but they did the best to hold their breath. No-one seemed to have woken up. Dean lifted his good arm and cupped Aidan’s head. Aidan blinked slowly and exposed his long lashes. Dean lifted his head and placed a tender kiss on his damp brow and made Aidan make a content noise. Dean relaxed back on his pillow and gazed up at the black ceiling while dragging a hand through Aidan's soft but dry curls. It felt good to give his kisses and his love to this man. Maybe both Aidan and he had needed reaffirmation that they shared something special in the middle of a war. Dean wanted to feel alive and Aidan probably wanted the comfort only a welcoming embrace could give.

Despite the intimate love-making, the activity soon had Dean yawning.

His eyes drooped and Aidan must have noticed the ended pats on his head, for he shifted to lay beside Dean on his stomach and caressed Dean's broken side with a careful hand. "That was so wonderful. Thank you, Sergeant." Dean huffed but forced his lids to go up. "You mad Irishman. You can't use my rank when my hand is wet with your seed. Have some common decency."

The Corporal raised his eyebrows and used a surprised tone when he said, "Oh, says the man who willingly put his hand inside my pants, and came in his in a hall filled with sleeping men. Speaking of..." Aidan slid a sly hand under Dean's robe and felt the soiled underwear whereas Dean twitched from the attention on his overstimulated length. Aidan proceeded to lean over him and and kiss him deeply, his eyes euphoric stars. He left Dean breathless.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll take care of them,” Aidan whispered with affection. Utterly gently, he helped Dean remove the underwear, thus hiding the evidence of their tumble. As he pushed the underwear into the pocket of his trousers, he winked cheekily.

“A trophy from sodomizing my first wounded lover.”

“It wasn’t sodomizing because I wanted it,” Dean replied drowsily and felt a hot pair of lips on his temple.

“Sweet dreams, my southern prince.”

Aidan left him then, but the love-making had been a strong reinforcement to strengthen their odd but captivating bond. Dean regretted nothing.

***

Aidan came back the next day at mid-day, and he didn’t manage to secure a chair to sit on so he had to sit on Dean’s bed which delighted Dean, even if his body was sore and ached from his injuries.

Aidan’s sunny presence brought peace to his mind though, and with their enforced proximity, no-one could see how they held hands under the blanket. Aidan seemed giddy like an enamoured girl and constantly beamed down at Dean. They talked for a while, with hushed voices so no-one could overhear their hardly innocent conversation.

“I forgot to mention it last night: you’ve shaved yourself… down there,” Dean emitted with heating cheeks and Aidan bit his lip to prevent himself from giggling.

“I have. I’ve done it since I joined the army. I won’t get lice around my _genital_ if there’s no hair. It’s worked so far at least.” Dean was impressed, and aroused at the new idea. Aidan had been so bare and soft. Dean was almost tempted to wriggle a hand inside the other's trousers again.

“Very clever of you. Got any other suggestions on health arrangements?” he asked partly as a joke, but Aidan pensively tilted his head and his bushy brows pulled together.

“I want to stay well away from diseases, both here and in the civilian life. So I stay as clean as possible, and I’ve made sure that any previous nightly company of mine has had clean nails and scrubbed hands. I can’t stand the thought of dirty hands on me. Makes my bloody skin crawl.”

Dean thanked whatever nurse who had treated him when he arrived and rigorously washed the grime from his skin and cleaned his nails. He also found that he couldn't stand the thought of a dirty man touching Aidan, and with a small amount of possessiveness, he uttered, “You’ve had a lot of those? Liasons, I mean.”

Aidan frowned at him. “I’m not loose and wanton. I know my own worth. I’m not a whore.”

“I didn’t mean that! I merely wondered about your previous experience. You seem aware of the _transaction_ between men like us.”

“I’m a jolly happy being, Dean. I like making people laugh and like me as I like them. But there haven’t been an overly lot of lovers. Only when I had some free time between seasons and could go to large towns. There are places for those who are looking for male company, only they’re eager to stay hidden from the officials and common people. Pubs in back alleys and furnished cellars.”

Dean slowly stroked Aidan's palm beneath the cover of the blanket.

“Isn’t it dangerous? For a young, lonely bloke?” he inquired gently, implying both the patrolling polices and the strangers in those establishments.

Aidan just flashed him a grin. “I’m here now and I’m still fine, aren’t I? I know my ways around trouble.”

Then he turned grave and glanced at Dean. “Oh hell, don’t tell me you’ve never had a lover before,” he whispered with mounting horror so Dean quickly calmed him. “No, I’m not a young man, Aidan. You haven’t had the honour of deflowering me in a hospital bed.”

Aidan’s shoulders slumped with relief although his gaze carried some sort of understanding. “But you seem to think my behaviour is outlandish. You’re not used to people like me, who are up in your face, like men in towns,” Aidan mumbled and smiled kindly at Dean who unwillingly began to squirm at the very personal conversation about his life. Aidan’s talent at perception was impressive.

Dean shook his head. “I’ve only had a few. I fear I will be found out the minute I talk too long with a handsome man. So I’ve avoided Wellington’s infamous pubs that citizens gossip about.”

“Who did you lie with, then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Men I met temporarily and would never have to run into again. Couldn’t very well spend the night with one of my milk customers on my daily round. Instead I saw the chance when I was shearing sheep on distant farms. It took days in some places to do all the animals, so there were opportunities to get to know some men. There was one widower I alone worked for. At another time, the son of the farmer sought me out in the woods nearby. I was young too. Christ, before my shearing work I had only kissed once with one mate in school.”

Dean looked at Aidan and showed him a mild expression. “But the passion I feel with you… I’ve never felt that way before,” he confessed and was pleasantly surprised when Aidan’s cheeks turned a violent shade of red.

“Really?” the youth asked shyly and Dean nodded confidently.

***

In the end, their love was impossible and the war was working against them.

Dean was being sent home.

He was to be evacuated on a ship destined for Australia, then New Zealand.

Aidan had to stay in Turkey with the remaining troops to defend what shores the Allies had managed to secure against all odds. The armies had suffered many losses and had less than satisfactory reconnaissance photographs of the area beyond the temporary strongholds according to uneasy messengers who easily succumbed to a few insistent questions from the soldiers.

Dean had been forced to say goodbye to Aidan that ominous morning in front of Aidan’s entire British company. Not that the others spared them much attention except for the initial interest in Dean’s origin, but their presence nevertheless limited the privacy between the lovers.

The whole farewell was bittersweet and Aidan could only crouch down beside Dean’s stretcher and shake his hand while giving his shoulder a quick pat. They both knew that was the way men said goodbye, even to good friends. Not even an embrace could happen.

Dean had seen the longing in Aidan’s blank eyes and the way the Irishman’s face was tight from suppressing his truer emotions. Dean himself thought he managed a grimace more than the neutral but guarded expression he had aimed for.

Aidan had spun around and stalked away and Dean had been lifted again; only seeing the khaki back of Aidan's form, his muddy puttees wrapped around his shins, and a helmet cruelly covering his dark locks.

After that, Dean had been transferred to the simple harbour where he and other wounded would wait a few hours until the ship that would carry them home to New Zealand was ready to be boarded. As he lay there on a stiff stretcher, he knew that he’d been lucky. Many, many of the other wounded in the base hospital had suffered far worse in an inhuman way.

Some were destroyed in bodies, others in spirit. It also wasn’t always a blessing to be able to walk onboard the ship: the blind men who had been hit by shrapnel could walk.

But Dean also witnessed those who struggled to move on their own with missing limbs. He may be carried on a stretcher, but he was going to recover. He had indeed been lucky.

His body might be affected by jagged scars, broken ribs and arms, infection that made him feverish, one grave, painful contusion on his leg, and damaged ligaments in his knee. But he would live.

And he had promised himself to fight against a limping gait. The doctor had spared him a few words as he hurried past him to more demanding patients, and instructed him to keep walking with the leg when he came home.

Finally the boat horn sounded and awoke those who slept and Dean felt a flutter in his stomach. This was it. Leaving Turkey and the war.

And Aidan...

Suddenly filled with what he told himself was irrational fear for the young man's fate, Dean clenched his teeth and focused on being carried inside the large ship.

He was put down in the steel belly onboard, along with hundreds of casualties crammed together on narrow beds. Dean wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of blood and sweat, but the stench was refreshed by a scent of the salty sea.

Once the ship had pushed out and its engines thrummed an accelerating beat, Dean wrenched himself up from the clean sheets, unable to stay still when something great happened in his life. He caught the attention of a clean, pretty nurse and requested one crutch from the woman who also helped him get up and wrap a blanket over his shoulders so it covered the pajamas that seemed to be an alternation of a patient’s robe and his uniform.

It was nice to be able to be up and about without having to worry about a revealing robe. Dean assumed that the nurse, being the first New Zealand woman his fellow countrymen had seen in months and sometimes years, soon would have to fight off flirty quips from recovering passengers.

Dean limped unsteadily but determined towards the exit of the room, intending to stretch his legs, so to speak. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't have the time for it on a boat destined for the other side of the world. He hopped through the open exit, made it up the vertical stairs by being lifted by two attentive soldiers who kept watch on deck.

Once he was outside, he walked slowly in the warm sunshine. He enjoyed how the breeze whisked his errand locks and how the deck trembled from the engine below. At the screech from a seagull, he turned his head and saw the shore of Turkey and the steep and intimidating cliffs disappear in the distance with small model trains and toy cars in the harbor along with busy, uniformed ants sprinting here and there.

It was strange to see the war which had seemed so terrifyingly great look so tiny and unassuming. Harmless even.

Then Dean’s thoughts turned to Aidan and he frowned. Poor bastard; all alone again. Dean gritted his teeth at the throbbing in his bandaged side but kept walking.

Across the ship, near the stern, he found another door down and managed on his own this time, for which he was grateful because he didn’t fancy calling for the crew or the soldiers on duty.

Once safely below, Dean explored the area he found himself in. A crossway of identical corridors leading left and right, sparsely lit with faint lamps.

He went left, hearing his steps echo dully on the steel. Then he squinted and saw a glimpse of yellow light through a door that was slightly ajar. He was panting now from the unusual exertion after the days resting in a bed, but carried on.

By using his weight to his advantage, Dean pushed the door open with the left shoulder and leaned heavily against the doorpost, a grin blooming out on his flushed face. There was Aidan, in grey cotton trousers and a working shirt, with bracers holding the trousers up, and a white apron, standing next to a sizeable pot on a counter and skillfully peeling potatoes under the supervision of the cook.

Aidan beamed when he lifted his gaze and saw Dean but he kept peeling.

“Dean! I never thought you’d make it here so fast!”

Dean flashed him a wide grin and winked. “Never underestimate the O’Gormans. We can surprise you.”

“You sure can. You were cleverer than I thought with this plan.”

The cook cleared his throat, but his eyes shone with appreciation. “Your pace is good Turner. Your help will be useful to me. God knows there’s more to life for a trained cook than peeling potatoes.”

Dean had made a secret arrangement with the cook. He would hide Aidan for the whole journey in the kitchen where the rest of the crew rarely dared, for it was the cook’s carefully guarded kingdom. The cook wouldn’t betray them and Aidan would work in the kitchen and sleep in a tempered storeroom. The cook reveled at the chance to, even in secret, fooling some of the more arrogant commanding officers on the bridge.

Unable to control himself any longer, Dean went up to Aidan as quick as he could manage, and slanted his lips to Aidan’s who yelped in surprise before relaxing his mouth and eagerly taking Dean’s lips, tongue, love.

Dean wanted to stake his claim, even if no-one could see. It mattered to him that Aidan knew he was Dean’s and Dean was his for as long as their love flourished. He sucked gently on Aidan’s lower lip until a vibrating moan stirred in Aidan’s throat and threatened to be heard by the cook. Dean wanted more of Aidan but knew now was not the time for intimacy. Though, they would have their moments later on the journey. He would make sure of that.

Instead, he released Aidan’s lip and nuzzled his nose while entangling his hand in Aidan’s hair and cupping his head.

“Dean,” Aidan sighed and Dean felt a hand press against his right elbow.

“Missed you,” he mumbled and Aidan chuckled softly. “Silly New Zealand man; you’ll have me for the rest of the journey, and longer.  We were only apart for some hours.”

“I love you,” Dean whispered against Aidan’s heated neck, then felt trembling fingers that were wet from water and potatoes fiddle at his collarbones to touch his weathered identification tags.

“We’re the same,” Aidan answered with a husky voice and turned his dark eyes on Dean whose heart sang with joy. It was worth the risk to try to keep Aidan at his side, if only for a while in happiness. It wasn’t cowardly desertion in their eyes, because it wasn’t a proper war to begin with. Not that they had been in another war and could compare, but this war hadn’t lived up to their expectations of an easily won, painless war. The papers and enlistment posters had painted a different, more idyllic picture of the war.

But now, when they travelled to Dean’s homeland, no-one would look for Aidan. For all the army knew, the Irish corporal had last been seen saying goodbye to a wounded comrade and then going to the mess tent. Then he had vanished, perhaps fallen in another skirmish with the Turks.

Neither of the young lovers knew for sure what to do once they arrived at Dean’s homeland. Maybe they would travel from farm to farm to offer their help; Dean could shear sheep and Aidan could mend machines. No-one would recognize two wandering strangers; would assume they were two young, honest friends, maybe war veterans, looking for work and payment in money, food, or temporary lodging.

Dean and Aidan could save up to buy land and build a farm of their own in the future. No-one but them had to know the true nature of their relationship: that they were two lovers who had met by chance on the red sand of Egypt, joined by a war that continued to tear the world apart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I hope you enjoyed it, and I certainly learned a lot about the ANZAC effort during ww1. Feel free to submit your own thoughts! Below is my notes and facts, which I recommend reading if you want to know more about the New Zealand fate during the war, its soldiers, and other stuff that crossed my mind while writing this.
> 
> Want to read more about homosexuality and ww1? I recommend the excellent novel The Absolutist by John Boyne.
> 
> Two sites with pictures I've found shows the New Zealand and British uniforms, though the New Zealand one is of the Mounted Rifles Brigade and more equipped than the infantry, but I couldn't find a good picture of a plain uniform.
> 
> New Zealand uniform: http://www.nzmr.org/kit.htm
> 
> The British uniform: http://www.quickerbuy.com/products/british-tommy-ww1-uniform-amp-equipment-reference-book-980636090
> 
> Do you know that J.R.R. Tolkien was a signal officer before he got trench fever and was brought home to recover? According to Wikipedia, he expressed the following about the war and the sudden mix of upper and lower classes: ' [It gave him] a deep sympathy and feeling for the Tommy; especially the plain soldier from the agricultural counties.'
> 
> I also found this astonishing fact about the New Zealand effort during WW1: that “the total number of New Zealand troops and nurses to serve overseas in 1914–1918 was 100,444, from a population of just over a million.” That’s ten percent of the population, and mainly healthy, young men! That must have been devastating to the country. Especially since not that many returned in good health. Apparently, “16,697 New Zealanders were killed and 41,317 were wounded during the war – a 58 percent casualty rate. New Zealand had one of the highest casualty and death rate per capita of any country involved in the war.” 
> 
> If my maths works with me, that makes for a 5.8 percent of the population getting either killed or wounded. 
> 
> And in Gallipoli specifically, which was the first major battle for New Zealand, “a navigational error led to the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) being landed at the wrong place. 2701 New Zealanders were killed and 4852 wounded during a bitter struggle which failed to achieve any military objectives. Despite this, the significance of the battle of Gallipoli was strongly felt in New Zealand (and Australia) where it was the first great conflict experienced by the fledgling nation.” 
> 
> I had no idea about the New Zealand effort in ww1 before this research, but now, those men and women, at war or at home, have my sympathy. Apparently the ANZACs are being remembered on the 25th of April every year on ANZAC Day.
> 
> The govermental, physiatric help for PTSD affected ex-soldiers was non-existent at the time and many veterans had to get by on their own. I mentioned how Aidan wouldn’t get help with his thoughts when the doctors focused on the physical damage rather than the psyctric.
> 
> The foreskin aspect in the 1910's was something I realized I had to read up on, and I discovered this: Contemporary physicians picked up on Sayre's new treatment, which they believed could prevent or cure a wide-ranging array of medical problems and social ills, including masturbation (considered by the Victorians to be a serious problem), syphilis, epilepsy, hernia, headache, clubfoot, alcoholism and gout. By the turn of the century, in both America and Great Britain, infant circumcision was nearly universally recommended.
> 
> I mentioned newspapers and posters picturing the war at the end. The massive use of propaganda was similar in many countries. The war could easily be won by every country and men were expected to go to war and do their patriotic and masculine duty before winning and coming home before autumn 1914. Obviously they were in for a far different reality check.
> 
> I also thought that at that time, nurses (who were women mostly as far as I know) were competent at their profession, but also viewed as aesthetically pleasing to men. A woman was seen by her looks: pretty, beautiful, cute, striking, etc. That’s why I only added that information about the nurse onboard the ship, and limited the description about the other nurses, because that’s what Dean of 1915 would notice about them. If this story was set in modern times, I would of course have added more characteristics to the nurses and made the women more three-dimensional.
> 
> The Foggy Dew is an Irish patriotic song about the Easter Uprising in 1916, and describes how the Irishmen should fight at home for their own independence rather than for Britain and die faraway, in Sulva and Sud El Bar, which I after my research know are places in Gallipoli: the very place where the ANZACs and the British Army fought during ww1! And did I mention that the song is Irish, and Aidan is obviously Irish? Such a coincidence, so that’s why the song gets a special mentioning.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliffy! Feel free to comment! Anyway, I have researched a lot for this story to get the facts straight, but I admit I have used many articles from Wikipedia, so forgive me if something is inaccurate. I've also made an effort to deliver the feeling of that time and its society, with classes, new technology, feelings about homosexuality, and more. I will include the facts that inspired me in my notes when I see fit. Here's the first batch:
> 
> The propaganda poster Dean saw:  
> http://pinterest.com/pin/135741376240696519/ 
> 
> Story title from this poster: http://empirecall.blogspot.se/2012/01/british-ww1-propaganda-posters.html
> 
> "As early as October 1914 the New Zealand Expeditionary Force sailed from Wellington. Diverted from their original destination in Europe, the New Zealanders were landed in Egypt, where they helped repulse a Turkish attack on the Suez Canal in February 1915. The New Zealand volunteer soldiers remained encamped in Egypt, alongside their Australian comrades, undergoing training prior to being sent to France." (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_history_of_New_Zealand_in_World_War_I)
> 
> "New Zealand, like Australia, had a pre-war policy of compulsory military training, but the NZEF was initially reinforced by volunteers only. [...] The NZEF was closely tied to the AIF for much of the war. When the Gallipoli campaign began, the New Zealand contingent was insufficient to complete a division of their own, so it was combined with the Australian 4th Infantry Brigade to form the New Zealand and Australian Division under the command of General Godley. This division, along with the Australian 1st Division, formed the famous Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) under the command of General William Birdwood." (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Zealand_Expeditionary_Force)
> 
> "The New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade, consisting usually of four units of mounted infantry, fought in World War I [...] After the New Zealand Division was shipped to war, reinforcements for the New Zealand Mounted Rifle Brigade were shipped to Sydney or Melbourne, where they embarked on Australian troopships bound for Suez. They did not take horses with them. During World War I, it was a part of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) during the Gallipoli Campaign serving in the New Zealand and Australian Division." (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Zealand_Mounted_Rifles_Brigade)
> 
> "The ANZAC troops, along with the regular British 29th Division, the Royal Naval Division[28] and the French Oriental Expeditionary Corps, consisting of a mixture "metropolitan" and colonial troops in one division, were subsequently placed under Hamilton's command. With only five divisions the operation would be complicated by the limited forces available, the rugged terrain of the peninsula and the small number of suitable landing beaches, as well as severe logistical difficulties. [...] As an opposed landing had not been foreseen, the force was not prepared for such an undertaking. The British and French divisions subsequently joined the Australians in Egypt" (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallipoli)
> 
> "On 25 April 1915, as part of the New Zealand and Australian Division, the New Zealanders landed at Anzac Cove, Gallipoli, and fought in the Gallipoli Campaign under the command of British General Alexander Godley. The combined British Empire and French operation was mounted in order to eventually capture the Ottoman capital of Constantinople (now Istanbul). Because of a navigational error, the Anzacs came ashore about a mile north of the intended landing point in their initial landing. Instead of facing the expected beach and gentle slope they found themselves at the bottom of steep cliffs, offering the few Turkish defenders an ideal defensive position. Establishing a foothold, the Anzacs found an advance to be impossible. On 30 April 1915, when the first news of the landing reached New Zealand a half-day holiday was declared and impromptu services were held – the origin of the commemorative public holiday, ANZAC Day, recognised by New Zealand and Australia and held each year on 25 April." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_history_of_New_Zealand_in_World_War_I)
> 
> "The first major battle fought by New Zealand troops was Gallipoli. A navigational error led to the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) being landed at the wrong place. 2701 New Zealanders were killed and 4852 wounded during a bitter struggle which failed to achieve any military objectives. Despite this, the significance of the battle of Gallipoli was strongly felt in New Zealand (and Australia) where it was the first great conflict experienced by the fledgling nation. The landing is commemorated in New Zealand and Australia each year, on Anzac Day." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_history_of_New_Zealand#First_World_War_1914.E2.80.931918)


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